


Ovoviviparity

by kyril (CrownlessAgain)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Baby Animals, Bestiality, Lactation Kink, Mpreg, Nifflers, Other, Pregnancy Kink, Rimming, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownlessAgain/pseuds/kyril
Summary: Mating with a critically endangered and very lonely creature is all in a day's work for a certain Magizoologist.





	

As the scene in the village unfolded before him, Newt Scamander's heart sank down into his boots. He was too late, and the Occamy that had strayed into Muggle territory was dead. Tears of rage and helplessness prickled his eyes as he stared at its proud still head; at the beautiful blood-stained plumage. _There was nothing I could've done_ , he tried to tell himself, but the words sounded hollow. Muggles armed with rifles milled about, their chatter hurting Newt's ears. He clenched his fists and turned away. This was in the hands of the Indian Ministry of Magic now. After being Obliviated, these people wouldn't feel a shred of guilt for the terrible thing they had done…

Newt whipped around at the sound of trees crashing. A dozen voices screamed as a long blue body exploded into the open, beak open in a sorrowful wail. The new arrival coiled around the dead Occamy ( _his mate,_ Newt realised with a chill), crying out his pain, covering her with his wings and pressing his head against hers.

When he heard the sound of gunshots, Newt knew at once what he had to do. He flung his suitcase open, thrust it over the tip of the male Occamy's tail, and apparated away the instant he disappeared inside.

Back at his campsite, Newt wasted no time in rushing into his suitcase. Fortunately, the Occamy seemed to have settled in the lush forest habitat he'd prepared for their kind. Although still grieving, the Occamy accepted his gift of meat and shiny stones. He was wild, of course, and Newt would have to find a place to release him fast. Still, he was concerned about those gunshots, and he would have to sedate the creature to examine him for injuries.

While the Occamy snored under a sleeping draught, Newt was happy to discover that the bullets had only grazed him, taking off a few scales and leaving scabs that would surely heal in no time. It was the pink and puffy vent that made him let out a shocked whistle.

The Occamy was in season.

Grief at the loss of the female he had come to rescue hit Newt like a stunning spell. An Occamy became ready to mate only once in its century-long life, and with the wild population numbering in its hundreds, every lost opportunity like this was a disaster to the species.

All night, Newt pondered what to do. Capturing a female Occamy was out of the question – not only would she reject the male’s advances and quite possibly tear him in half, the idea itself was highly immoral. There was a potion Newt knew of, one used only by the most inhumane breeders who cared for nothing but money, which allowed interspecies impregnation without any apparent effects on the offspring. He had once dealt with a breeder of dragons who kept one male Chinese fireball and a herd of cows to serve as its mates. Newt shuddered at the memory of this despicable individual. He had sworn never to use this potion on his fellow living creatures…

… _fellow_ living creatures? Now that was a thought…

_That’s ridiculous_ , the rational part of his mind screamed. _It’s unscientific. Illogical. Dangerous! You’ll kill yourself!_

_I failed this creature once,_ the louder compassionate part replied. _I can’t fail again._

Trying not to think too much, Newt unearthed the relevant book. The potion was not difficult to brew, and soon, with trembling hands, he was adding the final ingredient: a vial of Occamy blood.

Newt sat down at his rickety dining table, took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and swallowed the potion.

It tasted warm and a little sweet, like cinnamon and ginger. The warmth spread through his veins, sinking down before settling below his navel. It was oddly relaxing. Newt unbuttoned his shirt and placed a hand on his belly, trying to feel for the new organs forming inside and finding the skin hot to the touch. The heat grew and grew, caressing him from the inside, until he was certain it had surpassed the boundaries of what was appropriate to feel at work. He was shrugging off his blue coat when he realised, to his utter mortification, that his cock had grown painfully hard, straining at the front of his trousers. Newt leapt to his feet, pointing his wand at his face and summoning a stream of cold water. It didn’t do much other than make him cough. This had gone too far; the proper thing to do would be to brew the antidote while he could still function and forget the whole affair.

_I’m experiencing oestrus,_ his rational side said. _This is fascinating. Unprecedented! I should write—_

It was getting harder to think, so Newt didn’t. Skin slick with sweat, he stripped himself naked, wincing as his cock finally bounced free. There was nothing left for it. He took several shuddering breaths, and stumbled into the Occamy’s enclosure.

The great beast was half-heartedly preening himself. Even in his current state, Newt was struck by how sad and noble he looked. A pang of something that wasn’t quite pity shot through him.

“H-hello there,” he babbled, stepping forward. Great golden eyes burned into his, and he suddenly felt very small and vulnerable. The fact that he was naked wasn’t helping. “I know you’re sad and afraid and lonely, and I’m probably being really stupid right now.” The creature slithered towards him, red forked tongue flickering inches from his face. “But I was thinking that maybe, only if you wanted—“

Then the Occamy’s tongue slithered up his leg, and Newt forgot how to speak.

The touch was so gentle, so much more intimate than anything Newt had ever felt before, even during his obligatory timid fumblings in the alcoves at Hogwarts that never really amounted to much anyway. “ _Oh, Merlin’s beard…”_ he whispered as that tongue traced little circles on his upper thigh, and oh, it was so cold, so perfectly, blessedly cold against his fevered skin. When it worked its way into the crease of his thigh, just short of soft ginger curls, he thought he would faint from desire. He leaned over the Occamy’s head, threading his fingers through the delicate plumage and then wrapping his arms around the cool scaly neck, letting its weight support him as the creature continued to lick, working along his inner thighs now, moving ever closer to where he so desperately needed to be touched…

Newt moaned, shuddering, as that tongue slipped between his cheeks. When it lapped gently at his virgin entrance he tumbled backwards, dragging the Occamy’s head down with him. The new position allowed him to squeeze the creature’s head with his trembling thighs, his back arching as that heavenly tongue slipped inside. Then, with what he thought was a mischievous glint in the Occamy’s golden eyes, it began sliding in and out. Newt’s moans turned to strangled screams as he was fucked by the creature’s tongue; it was all too much, he felt like he would die the most blissful death, drowned by the waves of pleasure that rocked his body. “Oh yes, _oh God, oh yes, please, PLEASE!”_ he babbled, shamelessly thrusting his hips against the Occamy’s beak, his hands digging into the leaf litter lining the enclosure. He was close, so very close, just a little more, _please_ …

The Occamy drew back as quickly as he had started, and Newt could swear he was laughing.

“Oh _you_ ,” Newt panted as he came down from his high. His cock throbbed against his abdomen, leaking a little puddle of clear fluid. “You’re _dangerous,_ you know that?” He laughed breathlessly, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. If someone had told him ten years ago that at some point in his magizoological career he’d lose his virginity to a fifteen foot winged serpent, he’d surely have forgone his amiable nature and punched that person in the mouth.

The sight of the Occamy’s cock jutting up from its sheath made him stop philosophising at once.

It was sky blue, with a sharp tip and several barbed ridges along its length. Although it glistened with lubrication, it was still twelve inches at the very least. But that didn’t matter to Newt. A drop of drool ran down his chin as he stared at it, knowing only that he craved it more than anything else in the world, oh God how he _needed_ it…

In a flash, the Occamy’s strong lithe body was pressed against his. He buried his face in twitching feathers and spread his legs as wide as he could, wondering if the beast could feel his heartbeat. The very tip of his cock, warm and comfortingly wet, nudged Newt’s hole. And then it was pushing in, inch by agonising inch, and Newt lost the ability to breathe, mouth open in a silent scream of rapture. It hurt, but it felt so deliciously full. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined being taken by something so big; so powerful. The Occamy started to move, the barbs and ridges on his cock unexpectedly stimulating for Newt. Awkwardly at first, he began to move his hips to meet the thrusts, earning a hiss of approval that made his heart swell with pride. He was fucked harder and faster, every thrust pushing that cock flush against his—his—

\-- _cervix_ , said the rational part of his mind. And then his vision was full of white light as fire rushed along every nerve, and he screamed like an animal as he came hard, his soft inner walls clenching around the cock invading his body, his release splashing his stomach as well as the Occamy’s. But the creature did not slow down for a moment, turning over onto his back so Newt could straddle him and ride at his own pace. Every thrust brought him closer to the edge once more; as his left hand clenched around the long pale scales lining the Occamy’s belly, his right went up to his chest, fingertips stroking a nipple, then sliding down his belly to stroke his own member back into hardness. He was bouncing now, head thrown back and mouth drooling with utter abandon, knowing nothing but the need to be fucked and bred like a mindless bitch in heat.

As Newt climaxed for the second time that night, the Occamy beat his wings, blowing back Newt’s red hair and dragging up clouds of dust and leaves around them. He writhed, nearly throwing Newt off, his beak opened in a screech, and finally his cock was throbbing and filling Newt’s womb with hot fluid. It overflowed, running in silvery streams down Newt’s thighs, but he did not care. The deed was done, and he had triumphed.

Too exhausted to do anything more, Newt promptly fell asleep in the Occamy’s coils.

 

Newt awoke with the feeling that he had slept for weeks. He tried to stretch his sore limbs and found them trapped under the Occamy’s weight. The serpent snuffled in his sleep and wrapped tighter around Newt, who couldn’t help giggling. The part about Occamies being cuddly after mating was probably not going in his book.

“I’m not leaving forever, silly,” he chided, extricating himself from the heavy blue coils as the Occamy head-butted him like an oversized cat. “I’ve got hungry mouths to feed, you know!” His whole body ached as he wobbled to his feet, but it was a pleasant satisfied ache. A trickle ran down his bare thigh, and he reached behind himself and rubbed his fingers over his puffy rim. They came away slick with silvery semen. He rubbed it between his fingers, still scarcely able to believe that the previous night had actually happened. More spilled out as he walked back to his shed and picked up his clothes, but he was sure that enough had stayed inside to do the deed. He patted his belly, imagining the thousand miniscule events happening inside it as the Occamy’s seed stirred to life within him, and went about the day’s duties with a vacant grin on his face.

He decided to name the Occamy Woland, after a dashing Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who had chained him up in the dungeons and flogged him with various implements in many of his earliest erotic fantasies. He did have to sit detention in the dungeons once for his entirely truthful claim that a Murtlap had eaten his homework, but that was the closest his fantasies had ever come to reality.

The next few days were spent travelling, searching for an untouched location to release Woland. Having found a patch of forest that seemed suitable, he set up camp there, letting Woland out for longer periods each day, watching over him as he grew accustomed to hunting in his new home. Between the travels, the work that went into maintaining such a sizeable collection of animals, and his book, Newt had little time to dwell on the idea of pregnancy.

And then, on the morning of the fifteenth day after mating, he discovered that he could no longer buckle up his belt all the way. He threw off his clothes and rushed to the mirror, turning this way and that. Sure enough, there it was: the very beginning of a bump.

Newt folded his arms around it protectively, his heart hammering. He was sure that this was what it felt like to have wings.

That evening when he went to check on Dougal, the Demiguise blinked at him shyly and pressed a gentle pink paw to his abdomen. Newt stood still, barely daring to breathe as the elusive creature stroked and prodded, finally resting his fluffy head against Newt’s skin and chirping. Then he ran to his shelter, and returned with a folded banana leaf. Inside the leaf was a selection of berries and flowers, and even a snail shell and a little polished red stone.

Newt cried a little as he hugged Dougal and thanked him over and over for the gift. He supposed pregnancy made one emotional. Nothing he couldn’t deal with.

Then the morning sickness started.

Suddenly, Newt was finding the smell of his own cooking so disgusting, it sent him bending over the toilet bowl. He tried to drink sips of water and nibble white bread and crackers, but even that wouldn’t settle, and he grew sicker and weaker by the hour until he could barely drag himself to the bathroom. For the first time in his life, his suitcase felt claustrophobic and suffocating. He lay down to sleep in a tent that night, hugging the precious case to his chest and taking it with him every time he had to run behind a bush to vomit.

He had just fallen into a fitful sleep when something nudged his shoulder. He sprang up, suitcase in one hand and wand in the other, but it was only Woland, returning from a hunt with some unidentifiable pheasant relative in his beak.

“Sorry, dear,” he muttered, settling back down and trying to ignore the sudden rumbling in his stomach. “You’ll have to find your own way back in. I’m much too sick to be useful.”

But Woland didn’t even look at the suitcase. He dropped the bird carcass in front of Newt, slithering back and staring expectantly.

“For me? I appreciate it, I really do.” Newt gulped. The smell of raw meat had always been distasteful to him, but now he found himself salivating. “You’d better eat it yourself instead of wasting it on me.”

The Occamy blinked, seeming to understand. He dug his beak into the carcass, working delicately to tear off a small strip. But instead of swallowing it, he held it out to Newt. When Newt didn’t respond, he pressed it against his lips as though feeding a fussy baby. The copper taste was too much for Newt to resist. He opened his mouth, letting his mate feed him, chewing every piece of flesh slowly to savour the dark musky taste. Between the two of them, they finished the bird in half an hour. Newt slept with a full belly that night, and was not bothered by nausea until morning.

They worked out a routine, with Woland hunting every night and resting through the day, waking up at regular intervals to make sure Newt had eaten and groom him with his beak (a process which, although pleasant, only made Newt’s red hair twice as messy as it usually was). The constant supply of fresh meat kept the morning sickness at bay, and Newt soon found himself functional again, although he was growing heavier and getting backaches if he bent over too often.

They could have continued like this until the birth of the babies if it had not been for Frank the Thunderbird.

Newt did not blame him. In fact, he should have made provisions for the inevitable rowdiness of adolescence instead of being shocked when Frank made the entire suitcase rattle with thunder for two days straight. With a heavy heart, Newt realised that he had been selfish; that he had not acted in the best interests of Frank, who needed to go home while his personality was still plastic enough to accept the imminent changes, and Woland, who had lost one lifelong mate already and would surely not be able to cope with losing another. Rescue, rehabilitate and release did not become rescue, rehabilitate and _fall in love with_ just because Newt wanted it that way.

“I suppose this is where we say goodbye,” he told Woland as he received one last head scratch. The Occamy seemed to understand, his huge eyes staring into Newt’s, filled with endless love and sorrow. “Don’t you worry, this isn’t forever.” Newt stroked the feathery cheek. Woland bent into the touch, eyes falling shut with contentment. “I’ll be back in six months’ time with your babies. Time flies when you’re busy flying and fighting and doing everything else you can’t do when you’re with me. I’m just a boring old human, after all.” His voice cracked, and he wrapped his arms around Woland’s head, showering his beak and iridescent scales with kisses.

“I promise,” he whispered as the Occamy coiled around him one last time, growling protectively. “I promise, I _promise_!”

That night, Newt buried his face in his pillow and cried until he choked. Picket the Bowtruckle sat on his shoulder, chirping and carding his tiny hands through Newt’s hair. After a while he seemed to grow bored and scurried off, leaving Newt alone with his misery. Not that Newt blamed him.

Suddenly, Newt heard scuffling under the bed, the sheets were ripped half off his body with a loud _thump!_ , and after more scuffling, something warm and fuzzy pressed itself against his cheek.

“You…!” Newt shouted, grabbing Niffler by the scruff of the neck. Then he saw Picket staring hopefully from atop the bedpost, and melted.

Dougal was the next to join, rubbing the tension from Newt’s shoulders with clever fingers. Then there was a growl that sent several pots clattering to the floor, and Mittens the Nundu plopped herself across Newt’s back with a contented yawn.

It was rather hard to breathe, but Newt didn’t mind. “You’re a Bowtruckle of upstanding character,” he told Picket, peeking out from under Mittens’ spotty hide. “I hope you didn’t let the Erumpent out too!” He laughed, and felt tears roll down his cheeks. Niffler snuffled sympathetically, prodding him with his long nose. “And you’re not quite as mean as I thought,” he said, giving the small creature a cuddle and breaking into sobs once more.

Pregnancy did make one rather emotional, after all.

The next morning, after reluctantly wriggling out of the pile of snoring creatures, Newt found that he could not button up his trousers at all. He made a mental note to buy some new clothes in Bombay, and, heart fluttering somewhere in his throat, pressed his wand to the straining curve of his belly. He watched the life-seeking spell travel through his insides, picking up one… two… three… _four_ pin-sized beating hearts.

_Four additions to the species,_ he thought, gasping softly as the spell revealed their tiny curled bodies; the stubs that would one day become wings. Their eyes, almost as big as their heads, were shut in sleep as they rocked within the life-giving fluids inside their eggs.

_No, not just that._ He stared at himself in the mirror, smiling and smiling. _They’re my children…_

Travelling through densely populated areas was always a miserable experience for Newt, and this time it was doubly so with how weak and heavy he had become. The incessant voices, the pushing and shoving and the barrage of sights and sounds made him wish he were an Animagus so that he could transform into something small and preferably spiky, roll up into a ball, and hide away forever. The worst were the crushing confines of trains, where the smells of grease, tobacco and sweat made him throw up what little he could make himself eat.

As always, the greatest help came from his animals. Dougal would rub his sore back, and sometimes even helped carry buckets of feed. Niffler kept bringing him trinkets – a spoon that had fallen behind the stove; a ring from a Christmas cracker he’d forgotten in one of his coat pockets; a shiny chocolate wrapper he was sure he’d thrown in the trash. He could sense the creature’s shame at the inadequacy of such cheap gifts, and made sure to thank him with cuddles. Even Frank atoned for his bad behaviour by conjuring up wind to fan Newt’s face, or a burst of rain to help him cool off.

By the time he boarded the steamer to America, Muggles were giving him concerned looks and muttering amongst themselves. It was easy to see why – he was round as a Puffskein, and pale as a plant deprived of sunlight. When he undressed in his cabin that night, he found that if he pressed just lightly on his abdomen, he could feel the outline of each of the eggs.

Newt gulped, realising for the first time just how _big_ they were. Then he prayed to every deity he knew of that he wouldn’t have to give birth on the ship.

On the sixth day of the voyage, it became apparent that he would have no such luck.

When he woke up entangled in damp sheets, his first thought was that he had wet the bed. Scolding the baby Occamies for their sheer disregard for which of his organs they pressed against when they wriggled around, Newt struggled into a sitting position. It was then that he discovered that the front of his nightshirt was soaked through. Confused, he pulled it over his head, noticing for the first time how the silky material glided over his chest, the sensation sending restless heat coiling through him. More curious still was how his small nipples had turned red and perky overnight.

They also itched dreadfully. Newt rubbed his chest in circles with the palms of his hands, careful not to scratch the sensitive buds with his nails. When his fingers came away wet with cloudy fluid, all he could do was sigh in exasperation.

“Now that’s just ridiculous!” he told the swell of his belly. “Merlin’s shrivelled testicles, you’re _reptiles!_ You don’t even drink milk!”

The only answer he got was an egg prodding what was probably his kidney.

He had to tie a towel around his chest as he went about his daily duties. None of the animals seemed to mind, except for Mittens. At first, she only sniffed at him tentatively. Then she began to circle, purring and rubbing her forehead against him, butting him away from the gate whenever he tried to leave. Finally, unable to take it anymore, she pushed her muzzle into his chest and yowled plaintively.

“You’re much too old to drink milk,” said Newt, nonetheless impressed by this display of affection from a creature that could eat ten of him for breakfast. Mittens pushed harder, almost knocking him onto his rear. “Stop that!” he scolded, but then she turned her wide yellow eyes up at him and he was as smitten as he’d been when he’d found her as a baby. “Fine, I suppose there’s no point wasting it.” She licked her lips as he unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off his slender freckled shoulders. He was barely surprised when he found that his chest had swelled to the size of A-cup breasts with all the pent-up milk. His nipples stood plump and upright, hot and slick with milk. Purring low in her throat, Mittens settled down beside him and touched the right with the very tip of her tongue.

“One little bite and I’ll petrify you,” Newt threatened, tapping Mittens’ pink nose with his wand. Still, he shivered in spite of himself as the cool, rough tongue swept over his breast. Mittens began to suck, slurping and grunting with pleasure. Newt found himself groaning too as she drank and drank until the tips of her whiskers turned white, and, feeling warm and maternal, he rested against her broad back. She pulled away, swallowed, swept her pink tongue over her muzzle and returned to Newt’s left nipple. Moaning with delight, he arched against her and buried his fingers in her fur. His nipples had always been sensitive, but now it felt like every suckle and caress was shooting straight to the pleasure centre of his brain.

He wondered, only for a moment, whether the more appropriate thing would be to stop her. But she was enjoying herself far too much, and besides, what harm could it possibly do? So he let his eyes fall shut and submitted himself to her wonderful tongue, sighing and scratching behind her ears to return a fraction of the pleasure she was giving him. Barely a minute passed before he shuddered and came, white-hot ecstasy coursing in waves through his overstimulated body, making his hips twitch and his toes curl.

Newt laughed breathlessly, patting Mittens on the head as he basked in the warm aftershocks of his orgasm. His shirt and trousers were soaked with his fluids as well as the Nundu’s saliva, but he didn’t care. _I’ve earned this_ , he told himself, burying his face in Mittens’ fur and drifting off to sleep. _It’s all going to be fine…_

He awoke blinded by pain.

_My babies_! The thought hammering at his entire being like a wild bird trapped in a cage. He felt between his legs. No blood. Breathing a sigh of relief he struggled to his feet, then collapsed with a choked scream as every muscle in his abdomen contracted to what seemed like tearing point. Mittens sprang up, growling with indignation.

“It’s all right,” he assured her, trying his best to smile through the pain. “I’ll be right as rain, I promise.” Another contraction brought him to his knees, and he knew he had to get out. Ignoring the roars that echoed behind him, he half-ran half-crawled back into his cabin. He cast a silencing spell over the room, and magically sealed the door and his suitcase twice each to be sure. Then he stripped himself naked and bundled his clothes as well as the sheets into a sort of nest, where he lay down on his back and awaited what was to come.

As bouts of agony ravaged his body, Newt bit the corner of his pillow to stop himself from screaming. He found himself remembering the time his six year old self came home crying because a bigger boy had kicked him between the legs, and his mother had promptly told him that bringing him into the world had hurt a thousand times more. He wondered what she would think of her son giving birth to a clutch of critically endangered magical creatures aboard a Muggle steam ship.

Thinking was the only thing that kept Newt from losing his mind from the pain. He screamed through his teeth, chewing the pillow to tatters. _If I die,_ he thought desperately, _at least the animals can eat me…_

Then he felt the tip of an egg breach his rim, and realised that it would not, _could not_ happen.

He tried to think of everything he knew about females giving birth. He changed positions, first raising himself up on hands and knees, then lying on his side. Happy memories began to shine out of the pain. Woland feeding him strips of meat, more tender than any human lover. Being comforted by Picket when he cried; falling asleep in a pile of warm bodies. A hundred smiling faces, each unique and beautiful, each carrying behind its eyes a memory of something good Newt had done…

The first egg slipped out, and Newt picked it up and cradled it to his chest, laughing until he cried. His reflection swam up in the flawless silver shell, streaked with sweat and tears but endlessly triumphant. Newt kissed the egg over and over, pressing the cool metal to his lips and forehead, his soul singing as he felt the tiny heart inside beating in time with his own.

After that, it became easier. The second and third eggs emerged, to be cradled and kissed by Newt in turn. By the time the fourth and final egg breached him, he was too weak to scream. He lay, exhausted yet exultant, curled around his brood in his makeshift nest.

Already, the first egg was hatching.

Newt laughed wildly, his ordeal fading away as a tiny beak chipped at the shell and a perfect little being wriggled her way into the wide world.

“It’s all right,” Newt whispered as she curled around his fingers and watched him warily with eyes of liquid gold. “Mum’s here.” He giggled at the word and nuzzled her, chirping the way he had heard female Occamies doing. “Mum’s going to keep you safe and sound.” She chirped back, and soon her brother and sister joined her in chorus, slithering all over Newt’s body and nipping at his fingers and toes.

Only the last egg refused to hatch. Newt waved his wand and saw the scared little creature within, cowering away from the light that would herald the start of its life. He pressed his lips to the egg, muttering words of encouragement.

“I know you’re scared. I know it’s a big world out there. But you’re brave, and I believe in you.” He gave the egg a kiss, imagining the Occamy returning the kiss on the other side of the shell. “I bet you’ll be the bravest of the lot. I bet you’ll have all sorts of fantastic adventures once you get out!”

Picket scurried down from the bedpost, chirruping excitedly and pushing Newt’s sweat-slick hair out of his face. He wondered how long the Bowtruckle had been there, and decided that it didn’t matter. Dougal emerged from the mysteriously opened suitcase, picking the Occamies up one by one and tickling their bellies until they shrieked. Newt gave Niffler, who clearly didn’t think much of babies, a stern shake when he noticed him stuffing eggshells into his pouch, but then Niffler took them out himself and pushed them into Newt’s hands. Laughing, Newt kissed the tip of his long nose. So great was Niffler’s surprise, that he did an impressive backwards somersault off the bed.

Tired out by Dougal’s games, the baby Occamies nestled on Newt’s chest, snatching up slivers of meat that Dougal had so thoughtfully brought. Mittens’ head emerged from the suitcase, and she roared her congratulations to the new family.

Newt could have stayed in that bed forever if the call for ten minutes to land hadn’t rang out from the corridor.

After reluctantly stuffing the animals back into his suitcase with many a kiss and caress, Newt put on his old shirt and trousers. They fit quite perfectly, as if nothing had happened. He wrapped himself in his blue coat, hid the last precious egg in his pocket, and took his first step into his new adventure.


End file.
